The Strings Of Destiny
by ToryTigress92
Summary: The Vale of Lorrigan has long been home to an ancient line of High Priestesses. But when their sanctuary is destroyed by Morgana, the last of the Lorrigan line is driven to seek safety in Camelot, bound by a sacred duty to stop Mordred before he destroys Arthur. But the young Priestess may well find that her bond to the young Druid is far more than it appears. Mordred/OFC.


The Strings Of Destiny

Warnings: None.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except Elyssa, Mythrin and Kyla.

Full Summary: _The Vale of Lorrigan has long been home to an ancient line of High Priestesses. But when their sanctuary is destroyed by Morgana, the last of the Lorrigan line is driven to seek safety in Camelot, bound by a sacred duty to stop Mordred before he destroys Arthur. But the young Priestess may well find that her bond to the young Druid is far more than it appears, and that maybe the way to stop Mordred is not by killing him. But the strings of Destiny do not give up their puppets easily, and Morgana senses a chance to forever secure Mordred's loyalty, and sometimes prophecy cannot be avoided. Episode 5.3 onwards, AU. Mordred/OFC_

* * *

The full moon hung low in the sky, the wispy clouds driven before a howling wind that pierced the leafy canopy of the forest. A figure draped in black, a mere shadow on shadow, glided from darkened path to moonlit grove, until it emerged into a long, sprawling vale, nestled between the arms of the snow-draped mountains either side.

The Vale of Lorrigan lay before Morgana, glistening with the fresh winter snow. The cold came early here, this far from the kinder climes of Camelot, only just within its borders.

She ran a risk coming to the Vale, but she hoped that here at least she would find some allies in her quest against Camelot and her darling brother on its throne.

It was rumoured, and now Morgana knew to be certain, that the daughters of the House of Lorrigan were High Priestesses of the Old Religion, from a bloodline as old and venerable as her own. A part of Morgana was enraged by their incessant kowtowing and passivity towards the plight of their own people. Such power, such a waste.

Soon, they would take a side, or they would die. They could redeem their treachery, or stand against her. If they stood against her, they would burn.

With a feral smile beneath her hood, Morgana descended into the Vale.

* * *

_She ran across a bloodstained plain, leaping over corpses and fallen banners, fear and horror racing through her heart. Her hair flowed behind her like the banners which now lay at her feet, crushed beneath her boots. Her leather surcoat fluttered around her knees, catching at them as she ran._

_Her sword was unsheathed, in her hand, but it seemed there was no threat left on this bloody field of death. Her magic pulsed in her veins like fire spreading._

_She saw two figures up ahead, swords clashing the dark night, and sprinted across to them, praying she was not too late. _

_She was too late, she would always be too late. Despite her best efforts, she could not change their destiny-_

Elyssa was shaken from her sleep by a hand grasping her shoulder. She almost bolted upright but was silenced by the hand of her mentor on her mouth, silencing her surprised cry. Elyssa's eyes flashed gold but the hand at her mouth did not move.

"Hush, child!" Kyla hissed. "Rise and dress. Quickly!"

Elyssa knew better than to ask questions when her mentor was so clearly agitated, so she flung back the covers of her bed, shoving aside the uneasy remnants of the dream Kyla had awoken her from.

The room was pitch black, and Elyssa could only see what she was doing by scant moonlight and memory.

The slender, snow-haired sorceress hurried to her armoire, pulling from it a haversack and a pair of boots, shoving them in haphazardly. Elyssa, frowning, uneasy, reached for her riding breeches, and tunic.

"What is it, Kyla?" she pleaded in a whisper, as she laced up her jerkin, the soft leather holding to her form lovingly. She pulled back the sides of her hair, tying them back securely from her face.

The aged sorceress threw her cloak at her, with a hushing sound. "I will explain in a moment, but for now: come!"

Biting back an exasperated sigh, Elyssa pulled her cloak on and allowed Kyla to hurry her from the room.

* * *

The corridor outside her room was as dark and impenetrable as shadow. As Elyssa moved forward, it surrounded her senses and enveloped them, robbing her of sight even as it amplified every sound, even her own heartbeat, in her ears.

"Put your hood up, and come with me," Kyla breathed, taking hold of her hand and tugging her along. Swallowing her questions, Elyssa followed.

Kyla led her down through the house in which Elyssa had been born and raised, knowing the way by touch, as they descended the stairs silently, before slipping into the kitchens. Kyla lit a candle, illuminating the tired, haunted set of her features, her long sleeping robe belted tightly around her waist.

"Kyla, what is it? Where is Mother?" Elyssa finally hissed, tired of the all the secrecy. Kyla went to the pantry, beckoning the younger woman on, before stuffing a loaf of bread, a skein of wine and some hard cheese into the haversack.

"You must get away from here. Morgana Pendragon has come here, looking for an alliance. You know your mother will not oblige her," the elder sorceress replied tersely. Elyssa stiffened at the mention of the infamous Priestess's name. She should have sensed her dark magic the moment she entered the Vale. "Your mother is stalling her as we speak, but you must get away from here. You know what you must do."

Elyssa did know. She had been raised from birth with the knowledge of what she must do, what she was fated to do.

"I cannot just leave you and Mother to deal with her alone!" Elyssa hissed in protest. Kyla was old and her mother, while powerful, was no match for the sheer twisted determination and fanaticism of Morgana Pendragon. "What of the Vale? The tenants?"

"I have already sent out bird messengers to the outlying farms, and to the nearest outpost when we sensed her magic," Kyla replied, cutting her off in her concerns. "We have done all we can for the people, but we must get you away. That is all that matters now!"

"I cannot leave you and Mother here with her!?" Elyssa continued heatedly, as Kyla stuffed more food into the bulging haversack. "Kyla!"

"Enough foolishness, child!" she snapped, although quietly. "You are powerful, Elyssa, but you are no match for Morgana Pendragon, not yet. Now come!"

Kyla moved to a rug, old and patched, on the stone floor of the pantry, placing her candle down on a side table, and pulled it aside with magic, her eyes flashing gold. Beneath was a hatch, wooden and old, the iron ring rusted with age. With a wave of her hand, and a few muttered words, the hatch opened, and Kyla gestured for Elyssa to precede her.

The hatch was one of many secret tunnels and passages built into the house over the centuries, for the use of the Priestesses should danger ever come knocking and they were overwhelmed. They had been used to hide many a sorcerer during the Great Purge.

Elyssa dropped down, taking the candle and leading the way, as Kyla jumped down behind her, hurrying her along. Forced to bend double, they rushed along as quickly as possible.

* * *

The air in the tunnels was fetid with long disuse, and moisture dripped from the low ceiling. As they passed beneath the very floor of the hall where Elyssa guessed her mother was, she felt an overwhelming surge of darkness and rage, and knew instinctively that Morgana was there too.

They finally paused beneath another hatch, one leading into the stables, and Elyssa pushed it open with her magic, muttering beneath her breath.

"Enough!" Kyla hissed behind her. "We have shielded you as best we can, but she may still sense your presence. No more magic until you are clear of the Vale!"

Once they had cleared the tunnels, Elyssa rushed to her mount, Ryka, to find the stallion already tacked and bridled. Kyla joined her at the bay horse's side, securing the haversack onto the saddle with a few buckles. The horses stamped and whinnied, unnerved by the late night intrusion, but Ryka pawed the ground, eager for a run, even at this late hour.

"You must ride up into the mountains, through the North pass, then back down. Go to the outpost at Evelin, then onto Camelot. They will be expecting refugees from the Vale," Kyla told her, as they led Ryka out of his stall. She held the bridle while Elyssa mounted, then hurried to a room off the main stables were they usually kept the tack and cleaning gear. She emerged with a bundle in her arms, but the silver sheen of a sword gleamed from its rough woollen folds, and Elyssa shook her head.

"No, Kyla. Not Father's sword," she breathed, as the sorceress ignored her, and tied it to her saddle, behind the seat.

"Don't be stupid, girl," Kyla snorted. "You will need what is in there when the time comes. Now is not the time for sentimentality."

"No, apparently there is not a lot of time even for a goodbye," Elyssa muttered under her breath, her mind whirling. It was all happening too fast, and a part of her mind was still back in her bed, dreaming of things and times yet to come. "Kyla-"

"No, hush child," the sorceress paused and turned to her, looking up at her with a softer expression. She dipped a hand into the pocket of her robe, and withdrew a velvet purse. When Elyssa took it with a gloved hand, it was heavy and _clinked_ softly.

"A purse of gold and your mother's jewellery," she explained, holding up a hand to ward off Elyssa's protests. "She wanted you to have it, it is your inheritance."

Elyssa sucked in a shuddering breath, before nodding and tucking it away in her haversack. Her mother, Lady Mythrin, had always been emotionally distant, ever since her father's death in battle seventeen years before but Elyssa was reassured by this simple gesture, entrusting the birthright of the High Priestesses of Lorrigan to her. It all hit her then.

She would never see Kyla or her mother again. They would sacrifice themselves for her, for her destiny.

Morgana would demand their allegiance. Mythrin would refuse, and then Morgana would no doubt take her revenge in blood. Neither of her guardians believed they would survive this night.

"Kyla, please. Come with me!" she breathed, bending low over Ryka's neck to reach out to her mentor and friend, since she was but a child. The elder woman looked up at her, sadness now entering her soft blue eyes, and shook her head.

"Sweet child, this is our fate, our penance for the years we sat by and did nothing while our kin suffered. Yours is different, your path lies elsewhere. Go to Camelot, protect the King, protect Emrys. Kill the Druid boy. Be strong, you mustn't cry."

Elyssa felt them well up even as Kyla's stern words filtered into her consciousness. The sorceress clasped her hand once, pressing a kiss to it, before stepping back.

"You are the last of the High Priestesses of our bloodline. Never forget who you are, and what you are destined to do," she whispered, before opening the doors of the stables, and turning away, back to the hatch and the tunnels without another word. Elyssa watched her go, shivering with restrained grief and pain, before nudging Ryka into a walk.

* * *

Outside, the moon was high in the sky, and nothing moved in the village that surrounded the ancestral home of the Lorrigan family. Elyssa drew her hood down, and stayed low over Ryka's back, following a path through the orchards adjacent to her home, and then up, into the foothills.

Once there, she pushed Ryka into canter, the strong horse's stride bearing her far away from the Vale.

It didn't stop her feeling the deaths of Kyla, or of her mother, when they came, like a light inside of her snuffed out. There came a great explosion, and Ryka reared, Elyssa calming him with a word and a soothing stroke.

She twisted in the saddle and looked back, to see the house in flames, the screams of horses as they ran wild with fear, and the sounds of more explosions as cottages were rent apart from the inside out.

With the Sight gifted to her as a Priestess, she looked within, and saw the smile on Morgana Pendragon's face as she walked away from the burning house, her eyes glowing with a feral viciousness.

Elyssa grit her teeth against the tears and the cries welling up inside her, looking back at her ancestral home one last time, before turning Ryka and pushing him on, into the mountains.

* * *

Lady Mythrin Lorrigan sat in the hall of her ancestors, at ease and nonchalant, as the bedraggled and gaunt High Priestess before her paced and gestured furiously.

She spoke of their passivity, their acquiescence in the face of Uther's tyranny, and that of her brother's, or so she claimed. As she riled and threatened, Mythrin sat, at peace, with only one thought left in her mind.

She prayed to the Goddess that Elyssa would make it away. She knew she had never been the best mother to her daughter, left her with few memories of her that were not cold or distant, but after her dearest Fenris had been killed, little had mattered.

Not her magic, not the plight of their people. And not the daughter who looked so much like her father, with her thick, wavy black hair like a raven's wing, and the clear grey eyes that pierced souls.

But her daughter was fated, destined to do great and terrible things. And Mythrin's last service to her would be to ensure she escaped Morgana's wrath. She could search all she wished, but the last High Priestess of the House of the Lorrigan would be safe in Camelot.

She felt her daughter's departure, sensed Kyla's return as Morgana paused in her diatribe, staring at her expectantly.

"Well!" she demanded. "What do you choose? Death or to make amends?"

She saw Kyla in the shadows, waiting, and sensed her nod. Elyssa was gone.

_May the Goddess protect you, my daughter, where I could not…_

The middle-aged sorceress rose from her chair, pulling her robe tighter around herself, brushing back a strand of greying, auburn hair. "You are your father's daughter, Morgana Pendragon," she murmured softly, feeling the girl's rage rise at the name of her birth father. "You are consumed by hate and lust for power, and it will never prevail. Therefore take your threats, for they have no power here!"

With a flick of her hand, both she and Kyla attacked, sending Morgana flying across the room, and into a beam.

The dark witch stood, her face alight with madness and rage, as she raised her hands and chanted beneath her breath, as both Kyla and Mythrin felt the air become dense and hot, with the power of the High Priestess before them.

Forged by suffering and darkness, her power quashed theirs, forcing them to their knees as the air was torn from their lungs, but even as Mythrin looked into the eyes of her murderer, she saw only a broken woman whose time was running out.

Her daughter would prevail. Albion would endure.

Morgana Pendragon would not be able to stop the last High Priestess of the House of the Lorrigan. No one, and nothing, would.

And that thought was a comfort, as Mythrin collapsed, her body spasming with its last desperate attempts to breathe, to live, a satisfied smile on her face, enraging her murderer even as she believed she had won.


End file.
